


Blackbird Fly

by indigo_carter



Series: Supernatural Smut [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Smut, gentle smut, reader is blind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 16:37:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4027099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_carter/pseuds/indigo_carter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: @grace-for-sale: I loved your latest Gabriel story! So awesome! Was wondering if I could please request a Sam or GabexReader where the reader is blind and has smutty goodness in it where the reader seduces said man? Pretty please with Castiel on top?</p><p>100 kinks: #46</p><p>Character: Sam Winchester</p><p>Author: This was previously submitted to dirtysupernaturalimagines under the username ‘intimesofdarkness’ (here) which is the username I made after I deleted ‘loreaboutangels’ – I promise I’m not stealing anyone’s work!</p><p>Reader Gender: Female (not specified in prompt, can easily change to make it male!)</p><p>Word Count: 3,000+ (I got a bit carried away…)</p><p>Warnings: This is the gentlest smut I’ve ever written. Oh my god. Please don’t hate me! Oh, and this isn’t really ‘safe’ sex. There’s not a condom in sight…<br/>A/N: I’m not blind, nor am I visually impaired so I’ve asked about for advice in writing this, plus it really caught my imagination – although this isn’t congenital blindness, it’s the result of a curse. Also – thank you! :3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackbird Fly

You ran your fingers along the wall as you walked, sensing where the doors were and using the air currents to tell you whether the door was open or closed. It was a game you sometimes played, walking silently around the bunker in your socks, trying to sneak up on Dean and Sam – it had worked too many times in the past, and they’d become accustomed to your ghostly wanderings. As you approached one door, a gust told you it was about to open and your nose kindly informed you that Sam was about to walk through it, so you stopped, fingertips still grazing the wall.

“Y/N! You weren’t trying to surprise me, were you?” You could hear the laugh in Sam’s voice and resisted the urge to run your fingers over his face to feel the smile. Instead, you wrinkled your nose.

“No, silly. I’m heading to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Want one?” You heard the rustle which told you Sam had either shaken or nodded his head, then the irritated intake of breath when he remembered that you feeling your way around the bunker wasn’t just a game anymore.

“Yes, please…want a hand?” You could picture his face, creased with the fear of saying the wrong thing. You’d become blind only a few short weeks ago – long enough for you to get accustomed to constant darkness, but short enough that everyone else still kept forgetting – as a result of a witch hunt gone wrong. You’d prided yourself on your perfect vision your entire life, and so that was what the witch targeted when you accosted her in her basement hovel. Doctors had said your blindness was unique; a total darkness was rare - only 18 percent of people who are visually impaired are classified as being totally blind and the majority of them can differentiate between light and dark. You were one of the unlucky ones who had a complete loss of vision.

“Please, Sam.” You held out your hand – the one not touching the wall – and waited until his fingers were laced securely in yours before you let your other than drop to your side. Sam took a step forward and you let out a surprised squeak. “A little warning, please?”

“Sorry.” Sam wrapped his other hand around your forearm. “Moving forward.” You giggled and leaned against him, his reassuring strength and solidity providing some comfort and his warmth sending thrills through you. Your skin rose in goosebumps against him and you felt his fingers trace over them. “Cold, Y/N?”

“No…” clattering from the kitchen reached your ears. “Is Dean ok?”

“I think so, why?”

“He’s clanging things around in the kitchen like they personally insulted him!”

“He is?”

“Mmhmm, this whole no-sight thing has made my other senses ‘better’ to make up for it, remember?” You used your free hand to make air quotes and felt Sam shake with suppressed laughter.

“Good point. So he’s clattering around, let’s see if we can surprise him. Stopping.” He pulled at your hand until your fingers rested against the wall again and you smiled in thanks. Having something solid and unmoving to touch you helped you maintain your balance, you found, and knowing you were within arm’s reach of a wall made you feel safer – that being the primary reason you refused to leave the bunker unless accompanied at all times by a Winchester. You listened hard to Sam’s movements, heard the rasp of laces and the scuffle of boots being toed off, and then Sam was standing beside you again, his arm linked with yours. “Socks it is.” You smiled but a bolt of sadness shot through you – you knew Sam would have winked then, and you’d never see it again.

Together you tiptoed through the halls until you had reached the kitchen door. You paused as you reached it, squeezing on Sam’s hand to make him stop too. You waited until you thought he was looking at you, and cupped your hand to your ear. Dean was mumbling to himself along with the crashing of plates into the sink. Abruptly it stopped being a mumble and became a full-blown yell.

“How the hell did I let this happen? Y/N’s with us because it’s safer for her. Safer? It’s my fault she’s blind. It’s my fault she’s damaged. It’s my fault Sammy’s so caught up in caring for her that he’s forgetting what he loved about her!” you felt your useless eyes widen and felt Sam stiffen beside you.

“Dean, it is not your fault,” Castiel’s deep voice reverberated through the door. “She knew what she was doing. Sometimes, bad things happen, and sometimes, they aren’t your fault.”

“This is my fault.” Dean growled, apparently hurling a final plate into the sink and beginning to stomp his way to the door. “I’m going to fix Baby. Don’t bother getting me for dinner. I’m not hungry.”

“Saaaaam,” you hissed. “We need to move.” You stuck one hand out to the wall, yanked on his arm with the other, and ran back the way you’d come, all the way to your own room, surprising yourself with the speed at which you moved. The moment you crossed the threshold into your room, Sam moved away from you. “Get back here. Now.” Sam’s reluctance was palpable and you bit your lip. “We need to talk, Sam.” Back in your own, safe, un-moved-by-Dean’s-cleaning environment you moved with ease, fingertips just grazing corners of objects in your way. Plopping down on your bed, you turned your head to the door. “Sam, I can feel you standing there. Just get in here and sit down.” Sam closed the door and a few steps followed in the silence. The bed sagged under his weight as he sat next to you. You reached out your hand and found his shoulder, ran your fingers down his bicep and found his arms were crossed tightly across his chest. “Want to tell me what Dean was talking about?” You closed your eyes tight, as if your eyelids would afford your sightless eyes some protection from Sam’s response and laid your fingers gently over his. He shifted slightly next to you.

“Not really.”

“Tough bollocks, Sam. I’m not giving you a choice in this one.” Your voice came out surprisingly strong and clear, and you swallowed. “Dean said…that you’re caught up in caring for me and it’s making you forget what you loved about me. What’s that about, Sam? You loved me…but you don’t now because I’m blind?” Your throat tightened and tears rose in the corners of your eyes and seeped past your closed lids. “Does my inability to see really change things that much?” Suddenly Sam’s weight on the bed shifted and you were abruptly in his arms. “Fuck! Sam, don’t do that!” Fear flooded your system and you wrestled to be free of his arms.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He let go – too quickly again – and you flopped like a doll onto the bed. “Shit, Y/N, I’m sorry.” His voice caught in his throat and guilt swamped you. “Of course you being blind isn’t what changed things – not that things changed, oh God this is coming out all wrong – me not knowing what to do changed me, it wasn’t you and – God – I never stopped loving you, what kind of a man would…”

“Shh…” you felt your way to Sam’s face and pressed your fingers against his lips. “I know you’re finding it hard, Sam, but it’s not you whose life has changed…” You fell silent, your fingers tracing over his lower lip, along his jaw, down the corded muscles of his neck, and settled in the hollow of his collarbone. “I miss seeing your smile. I miss watching your eyes crinkle with laughter. I miss seeing you rub the back of your neck when you’ve been reading too much and you’re getting a headache. I miss watching you silently judging Dean over his junk food and pies. I miss out on so much not being able to see…Sam, I don’t want you to look after me. I’ve loved you…God, I’ve loved you since the first moment I set eyes on you. Except now I’ll never set eyes on you again…” you trailed your fingertips back up to his shoulder. “Did you close the door?” Your voice dropped to a whisper and you felt his nod through his neck. “Sam, let me show you…just because I can’t see, it doesn’t mean I can’t look after myself…and you…”

You guided his shoulders down until his head met the pillow and raised yourself carefully until you were straddling his hips, your thighs snug around his. He lifted his hands to cup your hips and you leant forwards until your nose brushed the tip of his, and left a trail of kisses over his cheek and down his jaw.

“Even without sight I know you’re perfect, Sam.” You flicked your tongue over his earlobe and felt him shiver as your breath hit his neck. “More perfect than I ever deserved, even when I was whole.” You felt him shudder – this time not from pleasure – and pull you closer to him.

“You’re still whole. You’re still you. You’re just a different you to before. No less perfect, no less beautiful, no weaker, no nothing.” You rolled your hips against his and let out a yelp when you felt how hard he was against your core.

“S…Sam?” Pushing yourself upright, your fingers flew to the hem of his shirt, and you felt him shift slightly beneath you to allow you to pull his shirt over his head. Fingers fumbling with the button on his jeans, you felt his hands hesitantly slide under your t-shirt and trail slowly over your waist and ribs. His thumbs smoothed over your shoulder blades and you felt yourself melt under his touch. “Just take it off.” Your voice was a harsh whisper. “Just because I can’t see you, Sam, it doesn’t mean you can’t see me.” You guided his hands back down your ribs and curled his fingers around the hem of your shirt. Lifting your arms obediently over your head, you felt the breeze as he raised the hem and kissed each inch of skin he revealed. He tugged the neck of your shirt over your head and pressed a kiss to your forehead, before abruptly sliding out from under you and vanishing.

“Sam?” panic infiltrated your voice. “Sam…?”

“I’m right here, Y/N. Just wanted to make this truly special.” There was a click as he pushed a button on something, and a whirr as the CD began to spin in its deck. “I wonder what music you had on the last time you used this thing?” You could feel your face begin to flame as Otis Reading’s These Arms of Mine floated from the speakers.

“Oh god. Oh my god. Turn it off!” Covering your ears, you sensed the bed sag again as Sam crawled over to you.

“Slow jazz, a good choice…your turn to be worshipped, Y/N.” He took a gentle hold of your shoulders and lay you down in the warmth he’d left on the pillows. Trailing his hands down your arms, he knelt between your thighs and twined his fingers with yours, his lips – finally – claiming yours in a deep kiss, surprisingly sweet and gentle and filled with such warmth you thought you were going to forget how to breathe, before suddenly he was trailing kisses over your eyes, your forehead, cheek, jaw, the muscles in your neck and nipping at your collarbones. One hand left yours, and you gripped his shoulder as he carefully peeled your bra cup away from your breast.

His breath ghosted over your nipple and it puckered to attention. He huffed a slight laugh and bent to encase it in the warmth of his lips, flicking with his tongue and biting gently, eliciting sighs and moans from you as your head fell back into the softness of the pillow. Heat began to pool in your core, reaching an intensity you hadn’t thought possible from such limited foreplay. Cupping your shoulder, he disentangled his other hand from yours and gave your other breast the same treatment. You clung to his shoulder, your free hand finding a hold on his hip, your thumb probing into the V of flesh where bone met muscle, listening to his own huffs and sighs of pleasure as you trailed your massage further down his stomach.

Reaching his low-slung jogging pants, you slipped your hand inside the loose material and cupped his warmth in your palm. He was much, much larger and harder than you’d anticipated, even given his immense height, and you gasped as he ground himself into your hand. You tightened your hold around him in response, squeezing and palming him inside his boxers. He ground into your hand again, harder this time, and you slid your other hand down to the waistband of his pants, sliding both pants and boxers off in one surprisingly smooth motion and bringing your shaking fingers back to your own jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them before raising your hips for Sam to pull them down.

He repeated his actions from before, kissing every part of you as he revealed it, down to your toes and then back up again as he slid your panties down your legs. He pressed a gentle kiss to your mound before returning his mouth to yours and granting you another sweetly intense kiss, one hand slid under your back, the other tracing patterns on your skin as it trailed southward, leaving a path of goosebumps in its wake as he slipped his hand between your legs. As he slid a finger up your slit, tracing your folds, you took the head of his cock in your hand, smearing the drops of precum and slowly working your hand up and down his length. He groaned and pressed his face into your neck, before rubbing your clit with a delicious pressure, causing you to keen and part your legs further. He grunted as he slid a fingertip around your soaking folds and circling your entrance.

“Y/N, I really don’t want to rush this…rush you…are you sure you want this?” He mumbled from your neck, his lips brushing against your skin with every syllable. In reply, you bucked your hips and he groaned as his finger slid inside. “I…is that a yes?”

“Yes, you idiot!” You laughed and choked on your laugh as he crooked his finger inside you, finding the exact spot instantly, his thumb landing on your clit.

“Did you laugh at me?” He growled, raising up to look at your face, which was crinkled with the effort of keeping as quiet as possible.

“Ma-maybe.” You gasped as he slid his finger in and out, a second finger joining it, and his thumb rubbing harsh circles on your sensitised nub.

“You laughed when I’ve got you in the palm of my hand?”

“Ugh, yes, Sam…” one of your hands crept back to his cock, the other sliding up his chest to his neck and tangling in his hair. “Just…just kiss me.” He gladly complied, his motions becoming frenzied as you stroked his cock, twisting and squeezing and eliciting filthy moans from his lips. The heat built into a coil in your lower stomach. “Don’t…don’t stop…” Sam’s kiss became deeper, and his pace ruthless between your legs. “Fu—ck, Sam, shit…!” the coil snapped and fierce waves of pleasure ripped through you, your walls clenching on his fingers, your mouth falling open. You slid your hand from the back of his head to his face and traced his features. “Stop grinning, Mr Winchester, and fuck me.” Your voice was breathy and deeper than normal, and your felt Sam grow impossibly hard in your hand, before you guided the head of his cock to your entrance. He slid inside, slowly, letting you adjust to his girth and length before setting a slow pace. His muscles tensed and you sensed he was holding back. “As much as I love the way you make love, Sam, I asked you to fuck me…” you whispered into his shoulder, your hands gripping his biceps as he raised himself onto his elbows.

“As my lady demands, so I – obey!” His thrusts became stronger, faster and penetrated you further than you’d ever felt before. Your nails bit into his skin, but neither of you noticed. His thrusts were banging the bedstead against the wall, and your combined moans and profanities filled the air, as his cock throbbed inside you. The coil tightened faster than you’d ever expected, and snapped just as abruptly, and you found yourself coming around him harder than you’d ever come before, your head thrown back and his lips on your neck, one hand in your hair, the other sliding down to lift your ass as he raised himself onto his knees, his thrusts losing rhythm slightly as his hips stuttered. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m…god!” his cock pulsed, spilling his warmth deep inside you. He let your hips drop back down onto the bed and flopped beside you, pulling you into his side and wrapping his limbs around you. A few silent moments passed, in which you knew nothing besides Sam’s warmth and the happy ache in your hips and the smile on your face, which quickly blossomed into giggles. “What?” He was clearly a fuck-and-sleep man, as he was now dozing on your shoulder. “What’re you giggling about?”

“Did you really just say you’re god? Chuck won’t be too impressed about that!” Sam was wide awake as quickly as he’d become sleepy.

“Did you really just mention Chuck in the bedroom, Y/N?”

“It appears that I did, Sam. What’re you going to do about it?” He took hold of your hand and curled your fingers around his half-hard cock.

“I think I’m going to have to fuck the profanities out of you, Y/N.”


End file.
